


one fish, two fish (pink fish, purple fish)

by oncewewerezombies



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternian Empire, Ancestor-Era (Homestuck), Animalistic, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Biting, Blood, Bulges and Nooks, Chucklevoodoos, Dom/sub, F/M, Femdom, Heavy BDSM, Hemospectrum, Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent, Knifeplay, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mental Coercion, Multi, Nook Eating, Overstimulation, Quadrant Vacillation, Rope Bondage, Subjuggulators, Threesome - F/M/M, Xenobiology, pailtoy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-02
Updated: 2018-07-02
Packaged: 2019-06-01 08:09:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15138833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oncewewerezombies/pseuds/oncewewerezombies
Summary: So, an Empress, a Subjuggulator and an Orphaner walk into a respiteblock.





	one fish, two fish (pink fish, purple fish)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ChasetheSun2](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChasetheSun2/gifts).



> I have a craving to see Condy and GHB teasing Dual and treating him like a playtoy. Petplay, BDSM, D/s, slaveplay, anything as long as Dual's the frustrated submissive/pet. - ChasetheSun2.
> 
> Great prompts, hope this one hits a few of your buttons. It was pretty fun to write, and definitely the kind of dynamic I like to play around with. Please enjoy!

Opening scene, one mirthful motherfucker standing upright next to a throne of coral and bone. One beach on her throne, splayed out like its a comfortslab and thighs open wide, claws drumming against the arm that's all upholstered over with wigglerhide. One _pitiful_ fucking wader down on his knee, all gold and glamour in his full uniform, head bowed and knowing he's the barkbeast that just pissed on the expensive rug. You'd be inclined to feel sorry for a motherfucker, but he did fuck up something unrighteous. Not unforgivable, no, but you don't really look at him and keep on filing at your claws with a little curved knife you picked up someplace. Ain't even know where you got this one or when it migrated into your costume but it's a real handy size and slips away in your sleeve nice; miracles.

"So." Her hand swirls slow, the glinting green liquid in her martini glass moving slow and heavy. Bitch does like her drama, she's building this one up. To your own self, you allow a silent laugh, mouth dropping open for a moment on a quiet breath before closing up again like the grave. "You knew this was harpooning when you went out?"

He's sweating, and fish don't usually. You look up as he opens his mouth, and grin slowly as he closes it again, obviously thinking better of whatever he was about to say. Good boy. He's been slow, but he can be taught. You're not going to dismiss the benefits of training, of showing some stubborn motherfucker just exactly what his place is. Even if it ain't what he thought. Shit has been fun, but he's mostly gentled to the leash now - enough for an imperious fishbitch's purpose, at any rights. Yours? Well. You like that you can still hear all the objections in his pan while his mouth is saying yes ma'am, yes sir. But you _love_ that flush of shame. Especially when he's doing shit for you, grovelling on your say so. It's even better than your pet blue, because Dualscar know, he _know_ you're below him one very important step but he's all about serving his motherfucking Empress. Real loyal boy.

And she says kneel.

And she says spread your legs.

And so he motherfucking _does_.

You appreciate a motherfucker who does just what he's fucking told, especially when he looks so good doing just that.

She stare at him for a second more, and he nods shamefully like a barkbeast all scolded and demure, waiting for the other walking frondstubcover to fall. You let out a mocking 'tsk!' and his head snaps up so he can send a furious glare your way. Aha, so it's all up and like that tonight? You can abide by that, ain't no motherfucking problem for one righteous FUCKING brother. The three of you are always on a low simmer, it only takes one wrong sideways glance to kick it to black. You're all too old to stick to quadrants on the regular. 

All you know is - you love to take that prissy son of a bitch apart, like to make him sob and beg and crawl then build him back up together after. And you'd murder anyone who looked sideways at her, the only queen you'll acknowledge over your own holy Messiahs-chosen self. Sometimes it's soft and tender, red all around, sometimes it's cuddlesome and gentle and diamonds sparkling, and sometimes it's hurting and dark, pitch black like her mouth under the fuchsia gashpaint she uses to give herself a real big frondly smile. Very fucking occasionally, when you and your imperial fishta get _real_ nastay at each other, he pours logic and rationality all over that shit until everything's ashes and subdued grey. Ain't got no proper hive to put all these feelings you three got going on, that's what you're saying here.

"Get up. We're going to my block, buoy. You got some explainin' to do - in private."

"Yes, my Empress." He stands up, stumbles a little from his leg being dead as to how long she left him kneeling and you come down the steps to grab him by the upper arm. Help a motherfucker along, ain't no more to it than that. It ain't because you just wanna get your hands on him. He hisses at you, fins flared, and you grin lazy back before giving that needlesome mouth a hello kiss. She just tuts at you like you're wrigglers playing up while you're busy with your third part, and you get a nice handful of a snotty wader's hair, leaning his head back with a slow pull as you kiss him. Taste that salt. And that _heat_ warming him up past just cool.

"You in so much trouble," you murmur to him, so close both of you still breathing the same air. "I could smell a motherfucker reeking of rut as soon as he walked in the door."

" _Go_ fuck yourself, Makara," he snarls back sotto voice, but you can feel him almost crumple into you with longing. You're more than willing to help him out with it all but you laugh and step back, and let him go his own motherfucking way, since he seems so insistent on it. Ain't matter to you. Pale ain't what you felt for this salty motherfucker never once in your motherfucking righteous life; save that shit for your imperial blooded bitch, that's what you do. When you don't want to bite her god damn fucking face off, anyway.

"Hurry the glub up, motherfuckers, I ain't got the patience to deal wave you both bein' basshoals tonight," she snaps, and you smirk, pulling away from him to walk backwards towards the door. Gliding your feet to give that impression of standing still and yet you moving. Miracles, motherfucker. He follows after the two of you, that needing look on his face and you know he ain't never gonna get any get up and go to leave. Not ever. Not for real. You turn and walk in a few steps behind her, him still following along.

She throws something at you and you catch it, looking down. It's a collar, nice thick black piece with her sign on it. Emblazoned deep and stained fuchsia so there ain't no mistaking it, with little diamonds set in at the ends of each line of her sign. Pretty little thing.

"Who's this for?" you ask mildly, because you ain't in no mood to play the bitch tonight when Dualscar is right motherfucking there, but you want to be sure before you take your motherfucking leave. No point in ruining the party if you don't have to. She scoffs at you and tosses her hair back over her shoulder, long and gleaming like an oil slick.

"Who you think? Orphaner, _kneel_."

He drops to his knees again, and you come around to grab him by the horns, pulling his head back to bare his throat. You can feel that anger in him beating around the edges of your 'voodoos, you always been so good at picking up on RAGE. Underneath that you can feel his need, ticktickticking away, building up, while you buckle the collar around his throat and then pull him up to shred his clothes right the fuck off him. He hisses and she smacks him one around the back of the head, so he goes back to being docile in the good grip you got on his horn, a real good fucking boy. And no matter what you think about him in general, he is a fine looking piece of fish. You grab a handful of his damn fine ass again, this time with no motherfucking thing to impede it, and feel him twitch and tense in your grip as she comes closer.

"Look at this," she croons, and drags her fingers up the softness of his stomach, trailing her claws over it. You grin, and stay silent with your frond gripped tight around his horn, keeping his chin tilted skyward. Bitch is up to _play_. The tip of his bulge is already peeking out his sheath, and you weren't lying out the side of your facegash when you said you could smell him. He smells ripe and ready - _real motherfucking good_. You want in. "Look at you, fingerling, you already wet as anyfin for us. Gonna put you through your plaices, yeah? Got a lot of ship to do to you. Why you wait such a long tide to come and get what you need?" She bellies up to him, and you can hear him let out the tiniest grunt as she presses her stomach up against his sheath, all slick and smooth in her bodysuit, her graspers clasping so tenderly at both sides of his face. "You one shelluva fuck-up, buoy."

"Empress-"

He sounds so motherfucking hoarse, like he's dying and she shuts him up with another kiss before pulling him towards the platform. You know what your place is when she's like this, and it ain't to offer no motherfucking opinion. You haul him up and strap him down as she says so, her murmuring sweet nofins and cupping at his horns and face, running elegantly clawed fingers over his gillslits. Softysoft, gentlenice. You handle him firmer and rougher, get him on his back on the sheets with his arms above his head, knees almost to his motherfucking earfins, ankles strapped to thighs, thighs pulled apart by more ropes,. All fuchsia and proper Imperial. She does so love to see her toys in her own colours. 

"Mine," she gloats, and pauses to look at the picture you've served up to her. You grin, still silent and holding your peace, sliding your tongue along the side of your grasping frond where he raised a rip in your hide with his claws. There'd been some - ah ha - minor objections to just exactly how you'd tied him up. "Cod damn...mmm..."

"Such a sweet motherfucking nook he got," you croon and he flushes, earfins snapped out to their widest extreme and looking a little moon-eyed. All yellow and glare, pupils rolling like a frightened hoofbeast but his nook is dripping down his thighs, bulge squeezing itself out of its sheath in a slow coil of ridged violet. You ain't know as he really mind it, even while his claws flex, wrists pulling against the ropes, thighs trying to close. Mind aroil, curdling in around itself in _need_ and _humiliation_ , ain't that just a fine fucking incense that you can waft around and enjoy. "So how you wanna plug it up?"

"Fuck _you_ ," he snarls, almost rising up off the platform and he'd take your ganderbulbs out if he could get that close but you know your knots. And a fishta knows the strength of just who she wants tied up for her delectation; so he stays motherfucking bound. Just writhes, pretty-like. 

"Don't wanna do that yet," she murmurs, and her fingers dance about his gills and fins. Deliberately avoiding his bulge and nook, teasing him with delicate touches. He's gasping, hips twitching and the need is rising off him like a storm. "I wanna have some fun, you minnow wharf I mean? Gonna get some toys out."

"Shoooore," you drawl out in response, and you love pulling that oceanic punfuckery out real irregular because it means that she grins at you very wide when you do. Just like she doing right now. Don't want to lose your touch through over-familiarity, do you? "How about we get stripped down? Get the feeling things are gonna get real motherfucking messy."

Meenah lets out a slow rattling laugh, and shows her fangs as you both survey the prize on the bed. You can feel him wanting to say something, jaws parting to spit something out, but you push your way into his thinkpan so you can hold his thoughts in the palm of your mental hand. You're not as old as her, but you're older than him and you've been playing games with waders for a real fucking long time. **Quiet** , you tell a lusus-killing motherfucker, **buckets don't need to speak.** His jaw snaps shut in a painful looking way, and you relent a little, twitching all those cords and strings that you see so easy, all those fears and thoughts and mindless nothings, letting him moan and chirp and trill for the pair of you motherfuckers but not one single actual word do you allow. He don't need them. If he needed to tell you anything, you'd pick it up right outta his pan.

You undress one righteous beach real slow, right where he can see. Even tied up to the platform as he is. Skim your hands down over her hips, lean down to kiss her mouth and nip the plumpness of her lower lip between your crooked fangs. All he can do is watch, and you snort when you hear him trill and a sort of sloppy wet sound. She jumps up on the bed as she pulls away from your fronds, fishing his bulge out of his nook with uncareful fingers, making him thrash urgently as her long claws delve into his nook around the curve of his bulge, rings pressing at sensitive flesh. Hard and cold, you know just how they are, right against the damp softness of a motherfucker's nook. His mind is little sparks afire, pain and pleasure mingling, the frustration feeling better than actually getting what he wants. 

For now; you know that ain't gonna last.

"Uh uh," she scolds, and squeezes his bulge in her grasper to the point of pain, running her tongue against her teeth as his back bows, hips arching up. Shift again between the two of you still standing free, and you get on the bed so you can kiss him, kiss her, then lean down and bite him hard on the shoulder while her frond keeps him from fucking himself. She squeezes again, and he writhes between the pair of you. "C'mon, don't whine we ain't even doin' nofin yet -"

"So let's get to _doing_ something, fishta, god damn," you growl because fuck, it's one thing feeling him writhe on the bed, against the hold you have on his mind, it's another thing having her feelings urging you on too. You've always been a thing made up feelings and _righteous motherfucking emotion_ , you ride your horses by the seat of your pants and the twitch of your fingers on their mental reins - you ain't something cold and certain as no motherfucking MINDFUCKER of a cerulean. Need is what you can taste when you breathe in, _real salacious waft of desire_. 

"Have some motherglubbin' patience, fuck you," she snaps back and pulls away from your shared toy, hand dripping violet before she wipes it on the sheets and brings up a knife with a flourish. Slim and slender, and with a delicately fine edge that'll open up even tough trollhide with just a little pressure. You chuckle silently in the back of your throat and take it from her, flickering it across your frond as you both take up position on the platform with him. You lean down to kiss him, devouring his mouth with your own and you can taste it when she takes the knife to his skin. Down and low, around his thighs, up to the edges of his nook and sheath, just plying it around real subtle and cruel. Little nicks, tiny slices that make him shudder with the need to keep still so those little cuts don't become big gashes in his hide. Violet leaks from his skin and from his nook, and you invade his mouth with your tongue until he's just about gagging on it the same way he would your motherfucking righteous bulge, saliva coating his chin.

He's a motherfucking mess and you've barely gotten started.

"Pretty ass bitch," you murmur as you pull back for a second to look down as she draws a Peixes symbol on the jumping muscles of his stomach with the tip of the slender little knife. Then she kisses it, mouth coming up with violet laid over the fuchsia and leaving a print behind on his belly. He whines at you and you smirk, before kissing an impearlicious sista to taste what she's got smeared on her lips. Tastes like salt. "You're so hungry for a blessing on your blasphemous fucking corpse." You trail your fingers down and play with his nook, while your tyrian blooded sometime-moirail sometime-kismesis wiggles herself up to the point where she lowers herself down onto his face. You thrust your fingers in hard as she cuts off his air, watching the gills on his sides snap open wide. Violet gashes to match the cuts you both already left in dark grey skin. "Open your mouth and motherfucking _receive it_ , sinner." 

From the sounds a fishybitchywitch is making real soon, he's definitely doing that. If Dualscar didn't have such a clever tongue, you ain't sure either of the pair of you would have kept him around nearly as long. Not considering the flummery he'd made of telling you a joke that once upon a time - if a motherfucker hadn't been able to recover and get back onto his frondstubs real graceful, there wouldn't _be_ no more motherfucker. You move your bulk so you're down between his legs and rake your claws down his thighs, raising heavy bleeding welts.

But he don't squeal until you get your tongue all the fuck over his nook. Then he makes some real hellacious noise, muffled as it is by an Imperious Condescension's hella thicc thighs. You suck at the base of his sheath, getting geneslime smeared pastel purple into your paint and leaving your own smears on gray skin. **Sing it out, bro. CAN'T HEAR YOU ALL TOO MOTHERFUCKING WELL. You got so much work to do; BITCH AIN'T EVEN MOANING YET.** The tips of your fangs graze his sheath, and you lay a sucking kiss at the base of his bulge.

"Oh yeah, fuck, get him to do that ship again," Meenah purrs at you from her throne on his motherfucking nug and you leer and grin at her as she gets your attention off just what's before your mouth, because hey. You can motherfucking appreciate what's on display before you. The most banging booty in all of Alternian space rocking and grinding down on her noble Orphaner's face, leaking slurry every fucking where. She's got her hands on his horns, fisting them at the base as she rolls her head on her shoulders, shudder of pleasure running through her body in a wave as she directs his mouth to where it will do the most good, her bulge curling out of its sheath and trying to tangle with his ostenfuckingtatious hairdo and smear it over with a new biological sort of gel. 

So you do that shit again, because why the fuck would you not when it's got her making a sound like that. And this time once he's finished bucking, you get your mouth on his thigh and bite in real deep. Almost threatening to pull back with a mouthful before you let go. He twitches all over like you shocked him, and his nook almost fucking _empties_ on the sheets as he cums in a wave. 

"Aww, bro," you say mockingly, and laugh as Her Imperious's hips thrust forward, riding his face as he screams for you, like her Messiahs' given right. Which it is, you have to say. You kiss the bleeding bite and move back to mouthing at his nook while he shudders all over, too sensitive to be touched but you getting your flavourslab all up in this salty tasting business anyfuckingway. The feel in his thinkpan is a roil of heat and bubbling want, and you ain't helping any of his reason come to rest at hive any time soon. Ain't every troll who gets like this but the noble Orphaner has a downright predilection to go feral, and you don't mind it when it makes him like this. Weak and wanting, a soft little fuckpet that only wants just about one thing - a bulge right up in his nook. 

When Meenah pulls off him, his face is soaked and smeared in tyrian colour, all riotous marked up and copious amounts of slurry running down the sides of his neck and into his hairline as she flops on the platform for a moment. Breathing real motherfucking hard, just like he is. You got two beached fish here, and you let out a chuckle at the thought. She regally ignores you, hand palming her bulge and he hisses, hips arching up as you press him back down to the sheets and kiss soft all over the inside of his thighs. Letting slip on the leash you had on his mind, you let him talk sweet at you while you ignore what you know he wants the most. A bulge right up his god damn motherfucking needy nook. Let him sing, let him beg and plead and curse you both, desperation in every trill and chirp, in all the noises he got coming up through his windtunnel. 

He is one needy motherfucking bitch, you can't even pretend otherwise. And with the rut, the heat, riding him like a cavalreaper on a bucking pony, he's _even_ motherfucking _worse_. The two of you tease him until he's sobbing, teary and overwrought with what he _needs_ and what you both ain't giving him. Tongue and fingers, fangs and claws, little pricks of the knife, keeping his hands off himself and off the both of you, keeping him bound up or bound down as an Empress desires she would have her toy stretch and bend or fold and compress. He's surprisingly flexible, for such a broad-shouldered motherfucker, but fish always did have the squishiest of bones. You let him cum until you've just about wrung his shameglobes dry, fuck him over with your mental fingers as hard as you use your physical body in every way but the one that counts - and then finally, finally - you let him have some bulge just like he's been begging and demanding for.

More like an Imperious bitch gets her swift and righteous fuck on.

You don't mind waiting, idly stroking at yourself and sliding maybe just a frondstub or two into your nook while you watch her take him from behind with his face in the pillows. Well. Except when she pulls up on one of those regally crooked horns so she can hear him wail hoarse and loud with too much pleasure every time she bottoms out in his nook. Once she's done using him as a bucket, you take your own turn. Slower, mouthing at the back of his neck and shoulders, leaving bleeding bites behind as you balance yourself with your hands on his hips and fuck him through to another orgasm that makes him shudder from horns to ass. His hands fist and clench where you've got them tied to his knees, a rod between his ankles meaning he can't close his legs as you take your own motherfucking time. Barely letting him hear anything from your mouth until you finally let go of your control and cum, pushing purple in on top of tyrian pink.

With a sigh, you pull back and sit down near him. Reach out to touch at a fishta's hair, tucking a curl back behind the long arch of her horn. Running your tongue over your fangs, where you can still taste traces of his bitter-salt blood while you look at what you've wrought and take it easy for a moment. One real motherfucking wreck, you have to admit with some amount of personal pride. If the Orphaner's crew could see him like this now - ha! What a riooot that would be. You'd do it, if you didn't pity him about as much as you hate him. Ruining him like that wouldn't suit any single fucking one of your plans...but still. Some part of you always wants to see every motherfucking thing around you burn and _oh_ , wouldn't that be a beautiful pyre.

"I'm feeling a thirst, what say you, Meenah?" you say slow and idle like you ain't thinking of nothing at fucking all, let alone what sort of catastrophe you're bemusing about bringing to pass on the heads of all three of you, before tracing a finger up the bruised lips of his nook. Watching as three colours of slurry leak down his thigh while he shivers - you can feel that strain in him says he's just about done. You let your lips curve up in a slow grin, feeling the hunger in yourself nowhere near abated. "How about I call for a coupla Faygos and we drink up?"

"Fuck off with that clown bullshark," she says flat, much as you expect her to. Stretches, like a purrbeast, flaunting her rumblespheres to the ceiling - and to you, you ain't gonna lie that you're not taking appreciative notice. She does have a nice set of 'spheres for you to ogle, and damn but you do like the chance to do just motherfucking that. "You'll have TAB, and you'll motherfucking _like it_ \- agh!" She squawks as you pinch her on the thigh and swats out at you as you lift your hulk off the bed, to go and call down the kitchens. "I don't keep that fuckin' ship around, you minnow that -"

"Good thing I bought some miraculous elixir in my luggage then, ain't it," you purr back with satisfaction and you watch the spades dance in her eyes before she throws herself back on the platform to sulk over the way you've thwarted her this time. Hey. Gotta keep her on toes, even with the little things. 

You can feel Dualscar wondering, pulling at the ropes as she mutters to herself in disgust over the fact that there's actual fucking Faygo in her fucking palace, just when he's going to get out of the bonds you've got him in. When this is going to be done, when he'll have served his purpose.

**Don't fret none, brother, we ain't done yet.** His jerk is almost more metaphysical than physical as you let your actual mouth do the speaking to the blueblood on the other end of the communication line, leaning against the wall and looking back over your shoulder. Such a pretty sight. Why would you want to shut that down any time soon? Besides, he wants it so bad, you can still taste it, wanna crawl in after it and drink it all down. You one hungry motherfucker when it comes to this. **You've got way more bucket duty to be doing before you get back onto hunting down defenceless fucking lusii, bro.**

Even from where you are, you can see his nook almost convulse, another deep coloured glob of pinkypurple genematerial easing its way out of his overfilled entrance and slipping slowly down the inside of his thigh. You lick your lips briefly, and caress your 'voodoos right through the channels of his thinkpan, giving desire a pull _here_ , and humiliation a tug _there_. Messiahs be praised, he's such a nasty fucking fish. Got all these things down in the undertow of his pan and you do sure love to bring them up to light, playing on how much he wants to serve her and how much he wants you both. He wouldn't be quite so much fun, if he wasn't so fucking easy as soon as you peeled back the armour of his dignity and the supposed grandeur of his position and his blood. Love getting him down so far, and you aim to keep him there for a decent long while. At least until you all gotta go back to the boring business of actually running this fuckin Empire, in your disparate ways.

**You know you love it, Cronus. So just hold tight, we got all the time till eve's gloaming to wring you aaaaall the way out.**

You can't keep back the smirk as you slap a psychic gag back on him, keeping any protests he might want to think to bring to the table right where they belong. Where only you can hear them in the back of his thinkpan, and they won't bother your third part none at all. Fuck, she looks good too, you can hear her humming with satisfaction while she plays with his hair, stroking slurry-soaked tendrils out of his eyes, away from his face before she drops a kiss on the tip of one horn.

It's gonna be a real long day for all three of you.

Pretty sure you at least are gonna be having some real MOTHERFUCKING FUN. 

Smiling as you hang up, you come back to the platform and the cuddleslab dips under you as you climb back on. You'll know when the drinks turn up - and right now, Dualscar's just started to squirm again in ways that make your fangs and claws itch something fierce. You think it's just about time to get your play on again. That bright tense feel in his thinkpan makes you think that he thinks so too. 

**Chill out and let a motherfucker do what he do best, brother. WRECK YOUR FUCKING SHIT.**

Fuck if you don't love your life when it's got such MIRACULOUS happenings in it.


End file.
